


Wounds

by flaming_muse



Category: Glee
Genre: Assault, Episode Related, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-10
Updated: 2014-04-10
Packaged: 2018-01-18 22:28:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,212
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1445158
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flaming_muse/pseuds/flaming_muse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There are different kinds of wounds.</p>
<p>set within 5x15 (“Bash”), no spoilers beyond</p>
<p>Warnings: related to and discussion of canonical assault</p>
            </blockquote>





	Wounds

Blaine raised his chin and steeled himself as the elevator doors dinged open on Kurt’s floor of the hospital. The smells of antiseptic and misery were sharp and bitter in his nose, haunting him, but he made himself stand tall. No matter that a deep, wounded part of himself wanted to turn around and get away from it all, there was no way he was going to leave Kurt there alone.

It wasn’t like the memories and fears wouldn’t follow him, anyway.

He spared a nod and a tight smile for the nurses at the central station, but he didn’t stop to chat. He wanted to be polite, but he was there for Kurt. He wanted to see Kurt. He knew he would have heard if Kurt was anything other than fine, but Blaine had been gone for hours - sent off to shower and go to class by Kurt’s unwavering demands that Blaine take care of his own life, because Kurt had insisted that nothing exciting was going to happen while he napped the day away - and even though Blaine believed Kurt’s doctors when they said they weren’t worried about his prognosis at all, Blaine just really needed to _see_ him again. He needed to touch him and see him for himself, see his eyes open and the amazing light in them still strong and alive when it could have been anything but.

“ - doing pretty good,” Burt’s voice came down the hallway toward him. “Better than I am. You know Kurt.” He was standing beside Kurt’s closed door, his back to the wall and a cell phone to his ear.

Blaine’s head jerked up higher; he was so glad Burt had gotten here to check on Kurt and take care of everything Kurt might need his father for, but Blaine couldn’t help the way his blood turned to ice at the sight of him. He didn’t know what Burt might say to him now that they were face to face.

They’d talked, of course, on the phone the first time when Blaine had been rushing to the hospital and then a few times later as Blaine had kept Kurt’s parents updated, but seeing him in person was different. There was no buffer of Carole on the line, news to impart, or flights to arrange. It was just them. Man to man. No hiding what Burt actually thought, not now that he’d seen Kurt for himself.

Blaine knew that there was no way Burt was going to make Kurt return to Ohio or anything - not that anyone could really _make_ Kurt do much he didn’t want to - but he might blame Blaine and Kurt’s other friends for not being there enough for him. Blaine knew he’d be right to. Kurt wasn’t weak, and he would have run into that alley even if there had been a dozen of them trying to hold him back, but at least then he wouldn’t have run in _alone_.

Part of the reason they were all in New York was to be a family and have each other’s backs in this crazy city. But Blaine had moved out, leaving Kurt behind. Leaving Kurt alone, at least some of the time.

It might have been the right decision for them as a couple, but right now it certainly didn’t seem to Blaine like it had been the right decision for _Kurt_.

No, Blaine wouldn’t fault Burt at all if he was angry with him.

His steps slowed but didn’t falter as he approached. He’d take any of the blame on his shoulders if it meant he could be at Kurt’s side again.

“No, I’m sure,” Burt continued. “They’ll probably let him out tomorrow. At least that’s what he tells me. Don’t know if the doctors agree, but that’s what Kurt’s planning.” He laughed a little, pained but genuine. “Yeah, I wouldn’t want to be in their shoes, either.” He glanced up, catching sight of Blaine. His eyes widened in recognition. “Hey, honey. I’ll call you later, okay? Blaine’s here.”

Blaine stopped politely, though with Kurt’s closed door _right there_ it was hard for him not to push inside immediately and prove to those whirring fears that had been plaguing him since he’d picked up that unexpected phone call that his fiancé was still okay, or as okay as he could be.

“I will. Love you, too,” Burt said, and he shut off his phone and shoved it in his pocket. Blaine braced himself for whatever Burt might accuse him of - abandoning Kurt, not loving him enough, being selfish instead of trying harder to stay by his side - but all he did was open his arms and say, “Come here, kid.”

With a little, helpless noise, Blaine sank into Burt’s hug with relief, squeezing his eyes shut as he was enveloped by Kurt’s dad. It felt so good to be hugged. It felt so good to have an adult there at all, because it was one thing to be in college and engaged and feel grown-up because of it, but it was something else when nurses were asking him incomprehensible questions about insurance and health proxies but absolutely wouldn’t let him in to see the man he loved.

(It still burned deep in the pit of his stomach to have been kept away. They were _engaged_. They were in _love_. Blaine should have been able be to at his _side_.)

At least some of that burden could lift off of his shoulders now. Kurt’s father was here.

“How’re you holding up?” Burt asked him, keeping his hands on Blaine’s shoulders as he released him from the embrace.

Blaine shrugged, because there was no way to answer that. “I’m just glad he’s okay.”

“You and me both, kid,” Burt said, and Blaine could see the fatigue deep in his eyes and etched into the lines of his face. He knew it wasn’t from the rush to get here.

“How’s he doing?” Blaine asked. He glanced toward the door.

“He dozed off again a while back when they gave him another dose of morphine. But he seems good. He’s Kurt.” Burt’s smile was faint but so full of love that it almost hurt to see it.

“I’m sorry I wasn’t with him,” Blaine blurted out, because he knew he wasn’t measuring up to everything Burt wanted for Kurt in that look. “Then, but also today. When you got here. I’ve been here as much as I could since it happened.”

Burt patted his shoulders and then pulled back. “I know,” he said. “You’ve got school. A life. It’s all right.”

Blaine nodded, though the guilt’s weight on his chest didn’t ease at all. “Kurt told me to go today. He insisted he was fine.”

“Yeah, he’s bossy, isn’t he?” Burt put his hands into his pockets and rocked a little onto his heels, his words tinged with that fond amusement he had so often for his son.

With a noise that wasn’t quite a laugh, Blaine looked at the door - closed and silent, and his legs itched to take him through it - and said, “He can be.”

Burt’s eyes sharpened on Blaine, and he seemed to weigh his words. His tone was quietly conversational, almost too mild, when he said, “Heard you moved out.”

Blaine nodded again and waited in misery to be judged. He felt like he was being stared down by a lazy tiger, sleepy-eyed but ready to strike.

Burt watched Blaine for a long moment, visibly took in the bag on his shoulder and whatever emotions were written on his face, but then he only said with what sounded oddly like satisfaction, “Well, I can see it’s not because you don’t care.”

“No,” Blaine assured him in a rush, because for all of the mistakes he might have made in his life, not caring about Kurt had never been one of them. “I _love_ him.”

“I know,” Burt said, almost kindly. He gestured toward the door. “Want to check if sleeping beauty’s up again? You know he’ll want to see you. He’ll never forgive me for keeping his fan club away.”

Blaine felt his chest seize for a moment in anticipation, but he readily followed Burt as he quietly opened the door and stepped inside.

It was a shock all over again to see Kurt’s handsome face so distorted with injuries, but he looked peaceful, less pinched than he had been when he’d woken the first time after the morphine had begun to wear off. Not that Blaine had cared what he looked like; he’d just been happy to get to talk to him at all, to show Kurt he was there and to hear from Kurt’s own mouth how he was feeling.

But still, seeing Kurt like that - pale, disheveled, bruised and battered, so still in the unflattering light and ugly hospital gown - made the dark, angry knot in his chest throb and threaten to grow. It was unfair, so unfair, that people were filled with such hate. It was devastating to see that hatred turned against Kurt, even though Kurt had been brave enough to face them head on instead of running away. Kurt hadn’t walked into an ambush but instead had proudly dashed into the fray, the white knight he always was in a sometimes dark world.

It made Blaine’s chest flood with bitter, helpless anger for a moment that this had happened _again_ to him, to either of them, to _Kurt_ who was so strong and _good_ -

And then Kurt’s eyes opened in a dreamy blink, and Blaine made himself let it all go, because all he cared about was Kurt. He couldn’t change the rest, but at least he had Kurt, Kurt who was looking right back at him.

Blaine smiled, his heart rising into his throat with the joy of seeing him.

“Hi,” Kurt said softly, his eyes morphine-vague but still aware as they flicked from his father to Blaine and back again.

“Hi.” Blaine set down the bag he’d had over his shoulder and cautiously approached the bed. He slid his fingers under Kurt’s hand on the blanket, careful not to jostle it. Just touching him made him feel better. Talking to him, too. Seeing him breathing, hearing his voice, getting to watch the muted but familiar spark animating his sore face - all of it made that anger fade into silence again, at least for now. “How are you doing, Kurt?”

Kurt’s fingers curled around Blaine’s, not with the same firm grip they usually did, but it was still more than enough to make Blaine breathe out with shaky relief. Kurt was with him. Kurt was glad he was there.

“Okay,” Kurt said. Thanks to the morphine, his voice was a little hushed, his movements a little slow. “I thought I heard your voices outside.”

“I’m so sorry we woke you,” Blaine said.

“No, it’s fine. I don’t want to be sleeping, anyway,” Kurt replied, though the way his eyelids drooped heavily made it look to Blaine like he wasn’t going to have much of a choice about it. “Although it’s not like there’s all that much to do here but stare at the walls.”

“Oh! Maybe I can help with that.” Blaine removed his hand from Kurt’s with some reluctance and turned toward his bag. “I brought you some things.”

Kurt’s face brightened, more life beneath the bruises. “You did?” He carefully turned his head to watch Blaine with interest.

“You never could resist a present,” Burt commented dryly to his son from his spot at the end of his bed.

“No,” Kurt agreed, his smile tight but no less real for it.

“I didn’t bring you any more flowers,” Blaine started with a trickle of guilt at the omission, “because you said not to, but I did see this down at the bodega by the subway.” He pulled out a flat, red paper lantern in its cellophane wrapper. “I thought we could hang it if we lifted up a corner of one of the panels over here.” He gestured up to the ceiling above Kurt’s feet, where the opened-up lantern would look so colorful and cheerful compared to the sterile, bland room.

“I can help you put that up,” Burt offered.

“Blaine,” Kurt said softly. It sounded like he was touched by the idea, and that approval went straight to Blaine’s heart, making him feel that much better.

“There’s more,” Blaine said, setting the lantern on the bed by Kurt’s leg. He unpacked his bag as he continued. “I brought you two of my favorite books that I like to read when I feel sick. A charger for your phone. The latest _Vogue_ , which I know you already read, but that spread on Victorian trends in modern fashion was _amazing_. A book of word scrambles and crossword puzzles, in case you don’t feel like playing games on your phone. An outfit for you for when you leave.” He ducked his head. “Well, two, because I know how you never pick the first option you see.”

Kurt sighed out a laugh, so weak compared to his usual vibrance but still wonderful to see. “True.”

“I also packed a few skin care products for you,” Blaine went on, his heart rising into his throat some, because he hadn’t brought Kurt’s favorite exfoliant scrub or mud mask, not with his face so abraded and hurt. It had been a wrenching moment to stand in Kurt’s bathroom with the jars in his hands and deal with the reality of Kurt not being able to use them. “Between the winter air and the detergents they use on these sheets, I thought your skin might be feeling dry, so I brought some shea butter.” Usually Kurt used it on his hands, but with them so scraped, maybe Blaine would have to dab the moisturizer around the wounds for him. “And also some olive oil. My mother swears by it for keeping scars from forming.” He pulled out a small bottle he’d picked up at the bodega with the lantern.

For some reason, Burt snorted. “He says he wants the scars.”

Blaine’s eyes flashed to Kurt’s abused face as horror filled him from the idea of Kurt having to carry around a visible reminder of what he’d gone through. He’d love Kurt no matter what he looked like, but he knew all too well how tough it was to ignore the internal scars of an attack like that one; to have to be reminded of it every time he looked in the mirror for the rest of his life was a ghastly, chilling thought.

Blaine had always been grateful that he hadn’t scarred.

“What?” Kurt said, tilting his head to give him a different angle, like he did when they were taking pictures. “You don’t think it would make me ruggedly handsome?”

“Kurt...,” Blaine began, his mouth dry and his voice almost gone. He clutched the cool, hard bottle and tried to figure out how to respond to the shocking thought of Kurt being somehow marked for good by this terrible thing that had been done to him and him _wanting_ that... besides the obvious: “Of course you’re handsome.”

“You don’t need a scar to prove anything,” Burt told Kurt. “It’s not a badge of honor. That’s you standing upright at all.”

“Well.” Kurt flicked a hand at the way he was reclining on the bed, hooked to an IV and a heart monitor. He sounded more amused than anything, not complaining. He was taking it all so easily, somehow.

“You know what I mean,” Burt said gruffly. “You’re a survivor, Kurt. Both of you are.”

His mouth tightening, Blaine looked down at the pile of items he’d placed on Kurt’s bed and began to put them back in the bag so they weren’t in the way.

He didn’t feel like a survivor. Not at all. Instead he felt like a fraud, because he remembered being in similar pain in a hospital room of his own only a few years ago, as cold and alien as this one, and he had been as alone and afraid as he could have ever imagined.

But Kurt just wasn’t afraid. He might have been alone last night, but he hadn’t been afraid. Even now, even after what happened, he wasn’t afraid. And he would surely do the same thing all over again, run toward the hatred instead of away toward a safer place like Blaine had toward Dalton.

Blaine loved and admired him for it, but he also felt like a fraud in comparison, because as proud as he was to be openly gay and openly in love, as important as equality in marriage and everything else were to him, standing in this hospital he felt as bruised and battered as Kurt looked, only it wasn’t his body but his heart. He wasn’t just shaken but terrified, furious, and helpless.

_This_ was what the world was. This was what they faced every day. This hatred, this inability to know where the next attack would come from, whether a microaggression, an outright slur, or a fist. It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t right. They were just people. They were people in _love_ , and it wasn’t right at all that everything they held dear could be taken away from them because of it, up to and including their lives.

Stilling his shaking hands, Blaine tried to tamp down on his rising anger, tried not to think about the worst happening, because it hadn’t happened. It hadn’t. Kurt was fine. And Blaine was, too, because he hadn’t lost him.

Kurt would walk out of there on his own two feet, and the bruises on his face would heal with time and care. Blaine would eagerly walk by his side, where he most wanted to be even if for reasons he was having trouble remembering right then he’d chosen to spend less time there, but he knew that there was nothing doctors or possibly even time could do to heal the wounds on his heart.

And that wasn’t fair, either. He shouldn’t have to look over his shoulder at night or worry when the phone rang from a number he didn’t know, but he knew he was going to. Thanks to hateful people hurting the person he cared about most in the world, he was going to.

Because it really all could be taken away from him in an instant.

Blaine looked up at Kurt, whose eyes had slipped part-way shut again, and said out of the desperate, jittering need to do _anything_ but think about that when he could focus on love and Kurt instead, “Is there anything else I can get you? I didn’t think the nurses would let me smuggle coffee in, but maybe tomorrow morning.”

“I’m fine,” Kurt said with a little shake of his head. He rubbed at the tape holding his IV to his hand.

“Would you like some shea butter?” Blaine asked, cupping the container in his hands.

“Not right now. But if you put it on the table, I can get it later if I need it.” Kurt gestured vaguely toward the table with all of the flowers and cards beside him.

“Are you sure?” Blaine said a little more insistently. He leaned forward on his toes, curling them in his shoes with the need to move and _do_ something instead of just standing there worried and hurting. “I’m happy to help.”

“I’m perfectly capable of putting on moisturizer,” Kurt replied with just a touch of acid to his voice, and Blaine wasn’t sure if he was relieved to hear such a normal tone or hurt to be rejected. “I’ve been doing it since I was three.”

“Let the man fuss, Kurt,” Burt said to Blaine’s secret shame; he hated to be seen so visibly not giving Burt’s son what he wanted. “We care about you.”

“I’m _fine_ ,” Kurt said, but he was more gentle about it, looking at his dad and then at Blaine. “You don’t have to treat me like I’m made of glass.”

Burt made a pointed, judgmental noise, and Kurt rolled his eyes in reply, the corner of his mouth turning just faintly upwards.

“Okay, but I’m still not glass,” Kurt said.

Blaine looked at Kurt’s face, at the cuts on his perfect nose and perfect lip and perfect _everything_ , at the bruising on his throat, at the IV in his hand, and wondered if Kurt being actual glass could possibly make him feel any more fragile to Blaine right now. He was so precious. So nearly broken. It could have been so much worse, but that wasn’t the point. He was still _hurt_. Blaine wanted him to be whole and healthy, fully himself, and he wasn’t.

He’d always known Kurt wasn’t superhuman, but it was one thing to know that he was a creature of flesh and blood and another to _see_ that flesh rent and that blood on his skin, to see his strength temporarily stolen by fists and medicine.

It made Blaine that much more worried, down deep inside in the dark, secret place where he kept his most difficult feelings.

Blaine was used to thinking of Kurt as invincible, as stronger than diamonds, able to withstand anything, and it made him feel shaky and off-balance to be forced to face the reality that he _wasn’t_.

But Blaine just made himself smile, because that wasn’t Kurt’s problem, and he put the moisturizer where Kurt had indicated, stepping with light footsteps around Burt at the end of the bed and feeling Burt’s eyes follow him.

“Look,” Burt said after a moment. “You might be cut off, but coffee sounds really good to _me_. I’m gonna get a cup. Maybe stretch my legs some. Blaine, you’ll stay here with him, right?”

“Of course,” Blaine replied without hesitation; he would have stayed anyway, but if Burt wanted him there then he would definitely stay close. “Absolutely.”

Burt’s face softened with something like sympathy or understanding, and he said, “Yeah. Okay. I’ll be back in a while. I’ve got my phone in case you need something.”

“Thanks, Dad,” Kurt said quietly.

Burt squeezed Kurt’s foot through the blanket and patted his ankle, looking at his face for a long moment like maybe he needed to reassure himself kind of like Blaine did. “I’ll be back.”

“Blaine,” Kurt said once his dad was gone, patting the bed beside him.

Blaine sat carefully on the edge of the bed, taking Kurt’s offered hand with another wave of relief to be touching him. “How are you feeling?”

“With the morphine, I feel pretty great,” Kurt replied. The words were easy, unworried, with a hint of humor beneath.

“That’s good.” Blaine stroked carefully over the unmarried skin on the back of Kurt’s hand.

“Mm. Tomorrow they’re moving me off of it and giving me pills instead, though,” Kurt said. “I think I get a week of the good painkillers to take home, and then I’m back to over the counter stuff if I need it.”

“Will that be enough?” Blaine asked, frowning at the bruising distorting Kurt’s face. It wouldn’t be gone within a week.

“It’s fine,” Kurt assured him. “It’s probably good, actually. I can’t afford to fall into a prescription drug habit on my salary.” His mouth lifted into a shadow of a smile, probably all his abused face could muster up without hurting.

Blaine watched him sadly but gratefully, happy to be able to see him smile at all, happy that Kurt wanted to. His love for Kurt was a living, aching ball in his chest, filling him up from the inside.

“How are you? How was your day?” Kurt asked, his thumb twitching just a bit against Blaine’s hand, like he was trying to stroke it in return.

“I’m okay,” Blaine told him, because there was no reason for Kurt to spend any energy on him. “Don’t worry about me, Kurt.” He tried to put on an encouraging smile. “I’m okay because you’re okay.”

Kurt searched his face, his eyes still a little vague but determined, like he was trying to sort out a puzzle. “Well, I’d still like to hear about it, because all I can tell you about _my_ day is that I’ve taken a series of truly exceptional naps and that my incredibly cute fiancé was as thoughtful and over-prepared as ever.”

“Did I - “ Blaine broke off, his heart plummeting, because if ever there was a time to do too much, this seemed to him to be it, but maybe Kurt didn’t think so.

“ _Blaine_ ,” Kurt said more gently. “I was teasing. You really don’t have to fuss, but I appreciate you wanting to. Thank you.”

Blaine looked up into Kurt’s eyes again and saw the truth in them. He saw the love in them, the _life_ in them, and he felt another surge of gratitude that he could.

“I like taking care of you,” Blaine told him. It was one of the things that made him happiest in the world, even though it wasn’t always what Kurt wanted.

He flexed his jaw a little against the muffling blanket of powerlessness that surrounded him. He loved Kurt just the way he was, but he couldn’t help but feel that it would have been a breath of fresh and very necessary air right now if Kurt _did_ want to be taken care of.

Kurt’s faint little smile appeared again. “I know.” He shifted his shoulders to the side, moving barely an inch away from him. “Are you going to come here?” he asked. “It’s a squeeze, but we already know it works.”

“Can I?” Blaine asked, every cell in his body suddenly awake and eager, _needing_ to fit himself against Kurt’s body, feel him solid and warm - and almost entirely whole - against him, proof that everything was okay.

“Well,” Kurt said with a just barely amused lift of his eyebrows, “it’s not like I can come to you.”

Not quite able to grin in reply, Blaine eased himself up onto the bed and settled close to him, careful not to dislodge any of the wires, to pull the blankets, or to put pressure on anywhere tender. It took a moment to find just the right balance, since Kurt couldn’t ease into the embrace the way he usually did, but finally Blaine let out the breath he was holding and rested his head on Kurt’s shoulder again. 

He knew the shape of Kurt’s shoulder, knew the sound of his breath, knew the smell of his skin, even with the remnants of the hospital, the alley, and a hint of the coppery brightness of his blood still clinging to it.

This was Kurt. This was safety. This was home.

Blaine closed his eyes as relief shuddered through him, leaving him feeling weak enough that he was glad for the lowered bedrail digging into his back to keep him from falling off the bed. God, it felt so _good_ to be with him, to be wrapped around this body he knew so well, this person who meant so much to him.

When Kurt moved his arm to fit his hand into Blaine’s, Blaine held it back as tightly as he dared and pressed his cheek harder into Kurt’s shoulder. He could feel the pulse beneath Kurt’s skin, the breath in his lungs, the life in him, still strong, still there. 

Blaine pressed his mouth flat to keep his feelings inside and just let himself feel _Kurt_ instead.

“It may just be the morphine,” Kurt murmured after a minute or two, “but I’m pretty sure I can actually _hear_ you worrying.”

“I’m sorry,” Blaine told him, keeping his eyes shut and holding on, soaking up his warmth and his presence.

“I’m okay, you know,” Kurt said, resting his cheek gingerly against the top of Blaine’s head. His touch and voice were so gentle. “Blaine, I really am okay.”

“I know,” Blaine said, and most of him did. Kurt was breathing and talking and laughing, and tomorrow he’d be harassing the doctors mercilessly to let him out of the hospital. He might be a faded version of himself right now, but he was okay.

Blaine believed in him and _knew_ that Kurt somehow was going to rise up again from this moment, strong as ever. That was what he did. That was who he was, and Blaine could not have admired him any more for it, even if it wasn’t how he managed his own hardships.

“So stop worrying,” Kurt breathed out, sounding halfway asleep already, and if it felt to Blaine like reassurance instead of a dismissal it was also a clear indication of just how okay Kurt felt. _He_ wasn’t worried at all; he didn’t see any reason to be.

“Okay,” Blaine said. It wasn’t like he was going to argue with him about it. Kurt didn’t need to be concerned about _him_ ; all he needed to do was be himself and get better.

So Blaine just edged in a little closer to this precious, perfect man he loved, let himself get lost in the measured rise and fall of Kurt’s chest, and tried to keep his thoughts quiet so Kurt could nap again.

It was easier for Blaine to breathe tucked in beside him. It was easier to let go of the restless energy driving him to do and fix things as much as he could. It was easier to remember that in a month there would be few remnants left on Kurt’s body of the beating that had hurt him so badly. It was easier to see how this was a tiny if terrible bump in the long road of their lives together.

Yes, everything was easier for Blaine just being there next to Kurt. He wasn’t _happy_ , but given the situation he was probably as close to it as he could get.

The problem was that even having assuaged yet again his own desperate need for reassurance that Kurt really was on the road to being fine - and he was, he was, every beep of the monitor and breath he took promised Blaine that he was - Blaine simply was not sure in the depths of his own sore, battered heart that he, himself, ever would be.

No part of this experience could ever be fine.

The wounds might have been on Kurt’s body this time, not his own, but Blaine was hurt, too. He knew from experience that the kind of scars he would carry - the ones he kept shut away inside, the ones on his heart, the ones that meant fear and anger and insecurity, the ones that didn’t completely fade even when bones knitted and bruises melted away - were so much harder to heal. Even so close to Kurt, Blaine could feel them pulling and throbbing with each beat of his heart.

Kurt made a soft, restless sound and turned his face a little more toward Blaine, breathing out in slow relief against Blaine’s hair.

Keeping his eyes firmly shut, Blaine stroked Kurt’s hand in comfort, listened to the steady rhythms of the machines with their reassurances that all was well, and held on. It was all he could do.

**Author's Note:**

> Reminder: I am spoiler-free!


End file.
